


Don't Let Me Down

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul gets the closure he's been needing for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic from my lj…thought I would post it here. Hope it's all right.

_January 1969_ ****

“Is he coming at all?” Paul asked irritably. John had been skipping rehearsals lately, doing God-knows-what. If he even showed up at all, he was late.

George looked up from his guitar. “Relax, Paul. He’ll be here.”

About half an hour later, a smiling John Lennon showed up with Yoko at his side. “Sorry I’m late, lads,” he began.

“If you were sorry you wouldn’t be late _every day_ ,” Paul shot back at him.

John’s smile dimmed. “Well, I’m _here_.” Nobody said anything for a moment. “Anyway, I’ve got a song.” John took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it in the air.

“Well, let’s hear it, then. We’ve wasted enough time already,” George said, gesturing to one of the chairs. Paul felt like George was suddenly on his side, and he felt a rush of gratitude. Lately Paul had been nothing but harsh toward John. He didn’t mean to, exactly, but whenever he saw the man—accompanied by Yoko, of course—he just got angry.

John hooked up his guitar and sat down. “Someone get Yoko a chair, eh?”

There was a moment of silence as the other Beatles looked around at each other. Paul stared defiantly. Ringo sighed audibly and unfolded a chair for her. Yoko gave him a thin smile as she sat down.

“Get on with it, then,” he said, nodding his head.

So John began. “ _Don’t let me down,_ ” he sang. “ _Don’t let me down._ ”

Paul bristled as John continued. The song was obviously, like many of his other recent songs, about Yoko. It wasn’t a _bad_ song, of course—it was beautiful.

But it was the middle eight that made Paul’s heart stop. “ _I’m in love for the first time, don’t you know it’s going to last?_ ”

“Wait—stop,” Paul interrupted, his voice strained. George and Ringo looked at him, stunned. Whenever one of them presented a song, no matter how annoyed they got with each other, they never interrupted. It simply _wasn’t done_.

John had frozen mid-strum, and was looking at Paul with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “Yeah? Is there something _wrong,_ Macca?”

 _I’m in love for the first time_.

“I’m going out for some air,” Paul managed, and kicked back his chair and left. He closed the door harder than he’d meant to—the slam made him wince. He fumbled with the cigarettes in his pocket, wishing he’d brought something stronger. He lit up and took a long drag.

 _I’m in love for the first time_.

The words brought angry tears to his eyes. Paul flung open the door to the rooftop, walking out to the edge and looking down at the traffic below Apple Corps.

 _Well then, John,_ he thought bitterly, _I guess I know the truth about us._

Paul still thought about it, even when he was with Linda. Linda was wonderful—of course she was. Paul loved her a lot. But he couldn’t forget the times John and he had spent together.

 _We used to tell say we loved each other_ , he thought, watching the smoke curl into the sky. _We used to say we’d get married if it became legal_.

_We used to say a lot of things, didn’t we, John?_

There were tears on his cheeks now. Paul squeezed his eyes shut and wiped them away angrily. _I’m in love for the first time. Well, fuck you, John._

Paul heard the door open and he turned around, not wanting to know who it was. It was Ringo. Paul cleared his throat, unsure of what to say.

“It was the song, wasn’t it?” Ringo asked, his voice low. “The lyrics.”

“He’s so bloody full of himself sometimes, you know?” Paul said, furious when his voice wavered.

“You can’t let yourself be bothered by things like this.”

Paul wanted to throw something. “How can I _not?_ ” he demanded. “Tell me that, Ringo, how could you just sit there and listen to someone you used to love…” He faltered. _Used to?_ He was still lying to himself, even now.

Ringo walked up to him. “He’s with Yoko now. You’ve got Linda. You two—it was _years_ ago, Paul. I know it probably hurts—I mean, I know it _hurts_ , but you’ve just—you’ve got to _try_ to move on.” Ringo’s voice was gentle. “ _Try_.”

Paul just shook his head and focused on the smoke.

Ringo sighed. “Well…I mean, we’re waiting for you, if you think you could come back down.”

Paul wished he _was_ the smoke.

It was a good thirty minutes and two cigarettes later when John came up to the roof, Yoko behind him. Paul dangled his legs over the side, watching cars pass.

“Well, are you coming back or not?” John demanded, sounding annoyed.

“Why don’t you just play the song for the other two and I’ll just sit here?” Paul replied, not looking up.

John seemed to sense that Paul’s mood was not going to change. “Yoko, go back down there—yeah, I’ll just be a minute.”

John walked out and sat next to Paul. He took a cigarette out of the pack lying next to Paul and lit it, breathing it in. Paul was suddenly uncomfortable.

“So what’s got you pissed off at the world, huh?” John said nonchalantly.

Paul didn’t look at him. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, shove off, Paul, it’s _me_. Anything I do, you get annoyed about it. It’s ridiculous.”

Paul gritted his teeth. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, you can leave.”

“Oh, it’s _your_ bloody rooftop now, is it?”

Paul shook his head. “You know, you’re writing a lot of songs about Yoko.”

John smiled. “When you’re in love, Macca, you write songs about it.”

“When you’re in love _for the first time_ , you mean,” Paul said harshly. “Of course, of course _then_ you should write songs about it. Write a fucking _symphony_ about it.”

John’s smile dissolved. He said slowly, “Is that what this is about?”

Paul looked up at him, glaring. “I know it’s been years, John, but do you _ever_ think about—us?”

John blew out smoke. “Paul, I know—I know you’re still…”

“ _What?_ ” Paul challenged. “I’m still what?”

John sat up and looked him in the eye. Paul didn’t know when was the last time he’d seen John so serious.

“I loved you, all right? I loved you with everything I had. That’s the fucking truth.” John sighed, and Paul felt his entire body ache. “But the world isn’t ready for that. I don’t know if it ever will be. And you need to understand, Paul—Yoko is my soulmate. Whatever I was made out of, Yoko’s made out of that same stuff. _I love her_.”

Paul swallowed thickly. “‘ _I’m in love for the first time,_ ’ you said. The first time? What was I? What was all that, those things you just said?”

John smiled sadly. “I wrote that song years ago, Paul. That song was about _you_.”

Paul was speechless. “What—”

“The song was about you, and I never told you about it because that was about the time when we started having problems. And then a year or so later I met Yoko, and it didn’t feel right to release it.”

“And it does now?” Paul asked, his voice choked.

“Yeah, it does. I know you don’t feel ready, but I do.” They were silent for a moment. Then John stood up, taking one last drag and tossing the cigarette off the roof. “Thanks for the fag, mate.”

“No problem,” Paul said softly. His head was swirling, but suddenly everything seemed to make sense in his mind. Like things were finally falling into place.

John began back towards the door, then turned, realized Paul wasn’t following. “Jesus, Paul, are you just going to sit there all day?” Paul took one last look at the cars and followed John back down to the studio.

“Ready to learn it, then?”

“Yeah.” Paul picked up his base and swallowed. “Er—sorry for holding us up.”

“All right, it starts on F# minor…” John said, strumming. George and Paul copied him. “Then E… _Don’t let me down_ , right, nice and free…”

* * *

 

Linda was waiting for him when he got home. “How was recording?” she asked, giving him a kiss.

Paul ran a hand through his hair. “Still feels like hell,” he admitted.

She gave him a sympathetic look and started drying the dishes. “Did John not show again?”

“Nah, he came.”

Linda put down the plate she was holding. “Paul, are you all right?”

He breathed out slowly. “Yeah, Linda. I’m all right.”

And for the first time in a long time, it was true.


End file.
